When we talk, we argue.

When we argue, we shout.

We fight and we cry and we never agree

on anything, and we wonder out loud why

we're still together, because really, you shouldn't be with someone

you so obviously can't stand.

He says he hates guys who act like sports

are the only thing worth living for.

I say I hate those flamboyantly gay guys

who wear stupid clothes like skinny jeans. He tells me

that I'm stupid, that I'd never even be graduating

if it wasn't for him.

I tell him he has no life, and maybe if he had sex

once in awhile, he'd be less of a tight-ass. He laughs derisively

and informs me that he thinks that's rich,

seeing as the only reason he's not getting any

is because I've got nothing to give.

I call him a fag, and he says

that he might be a fag

but I'm the fag's boyfriend.

And the look on his face

full of hatred and anger and all those other things I can't stand

as his light brown hair falls into his eyes

and he pants because he's lost his breath by shouting at me

for so long

makes me stop for a second.

And in my hesitation, his anger softens, and he looks a little confused, until I grab him

and I hug him tightly.

God damn it, I say, holding him.

Let's not fight anymore, I murmur into his hair.

He nuzzles my neck and says he's sorry.

He says he doesn't like to fight with me, but I'm just so difficult.

I smile, and I kiss him, and I tell him I'm sorry, too.

And that I love him, even if I hate him.

He laughs,

and he says that he

loves me, too

and that he knows

that even though

it sucks for us to be together

it sucks so much more for us to be apart.